


Neutron Star Collision

by Calex



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Porn, Suit Porn, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-09
Updated: 2011-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calex/pseuds/Calex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Mark doesn't have a suit fetish. If he did, then his questionable friendship with Eduardo would have gone in a very different direction. No, it's not the suits that Mark has a strange fascination for. It's Chris. In those suits.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Neutron Star Collision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hapakitsune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapakitsune/gifts).



> For alexthegreat, who is Chris Hughes’s biggest fan, and who is also THE BIGGEST ENABLER ON EARTH, OMG. Also for thisissirius, because, well. I probably owe her a million fics and my firstborn. Also because she is awesome. This also fulfills one of my [kink_bingo](http://users.livejournal.com/_calex_/108887.html) prompts: ~~wrestling~~ /grinding. Title from the Muse song of the same name.

Mark isn't deliberately obtuse, nor does he have selective hearing, despite popular belief. Chris would say otherwise, but Chris is without a certain, vital piece of information. What Chris doesn't know (and hopefully _never_ will, or Mark is going to make sure Dustin regrets it) is that Mark? Mark's really, really distracted by Chris's suits. Mark doesn't have a suit fetish. If he did, then his questionable friendship with Eduardo would have gone in a very different direction. No, it's not the suits that Mark has a strange fascination for. It's Chris. In those suits. Chris in perfectly tailored and pressed designer suits that show off his shoulders, the lines of his body, the length of his legs. It's the way expensive material rests on his skin like wrapping paper, waiting to be carefully stripped.

And Mark is very patient. Despite appearances, he's not the kind of person who tears into a gift. No, Mark carefully strips away cellophane and spends careful moments to make sure nothing tears, that paper remains unblemished. He thinks he'll take the same amount of time and care with Chris, that he'll loosen Chris's tie, run his hands up from Chris's belt to his chest, pushing out towards his shoulders to slide the jacket off. He thinks he'd like to take Chris's buttons off with his teeth, but no. That's a nice fantasy but he doesn't want to stain cloth and he doesn't want to accidentally tear off a button. He'll leave teeth for when he's bared Chris, for when lips and teeth and tongue can play to make Chris slick with sweat and spit and red bloom from playful nips.

He’s not entirely sure when his preoccupation with Chris’s suits started. Probably when Chris started _wearing_ suits. If he’s being honest (and Mark is always honest with himself in the privacy of his own mind) it probably started in Harvard. It probably started the first time Mark had ever laid eyes on Chris in formal wear, dressed impeccably for a presentation. The problem with Chris is that he’s always been a snappy dresser and now he’s got endless resources to dress to the best of his ability. Mark might joke and call him “Prada” and wrinkle his nose, but he’s perfectly aware that it’s a ploy. That Mark’s just trying to distance himself and the completely inappropriate reaction Chris brings out in him. It also has the added benefit of making Chris huff and roll his eyes, and for a reluctantly fond grin to tug at his lips.

Mark sometimes thinks he’s turning into a masochist. He’s blaming it entirely on Chris, though.

They’re in a stockholder’s meeting, Dustin on his left and Chris on his right and Mark’s painfully aware of the unconscious temptation sitting by his side. Chris is wearing blue, which feels like torture and a reward all in one delicious package, sleeves rolled neatly up to bare forearms lightly dusted with fine blond hair. Mark’s staring studiously at his laptop but his concentration is shot to hell. He keeps stealing sidelong glances even as his fingers move without pause, actions now completely automatic. He knows he’ll have to completely redo the nonsensical code he’s typing out later, but for now it’s giving him the cover he needs even as his stomach tightens. Mark is completely aware of Chris’s body heat, knee jumping under the table as expensive cotton brushes against his sleeve. Dustin’s snickering next to him and Mark grinds his foot into Dustin’s sneakered foot in retaliation. It’s not really effective, and Dustin has to cough to hide his laughter. Dustin is really unsubtle, and that’s coming from _him_.

Mark feels someone glaring a hole in him and he swallows before he turns his head slightly towards Chris. Chris is glaring at the both of them, eyes telling them to shut up and Mark just shrugs helplessly because come on. It’s _Dustin_. Chris rolls his eyes and that reluctantly fond grin breaks over his face, the one that’s just for Mark, just _his_ , and he nudges Mark with an elbow. Mark’s breath hitches, loud in sudden silence and he wants to _die_. Chris is staring at him, and Mark suddenly is all too aware of what the phrase “deer caught in the headlights” means. He freezes. Chris freezes. Then the speaker’s clearing his throat and looking right at Mark, breaking the sudden spike of tension.

“Did you want to add something, Mr. Zuckerberg?”

Mark doesn’t know what he says, but the speaker goes on and Mark can only assume that it was vaguely intelligible. Either that, or they know him well enough by now (and he could only hope, considering how long it’s been) to realise that Mark? Mark’s not made for meetings. Yes, he’s the technical genius behind Facebook and he’s the CEO ( _bitch_ , his mind supplies, automatic) but social necessities escape him. He leaves that to Chris and, to a lesser extent, to Dustin. To the pack of brilliant people he’d hired to make sure that his company stays afloat on a corporate level while he works behind the scenes. In the beginning, he’d also relied on Eduardo but that was one lawsuit and many years ago, and Mark’s not the kind of person who likes to obsess over what he perceives to be his (few) failures in life.

He can see Dustin biting his lip to hide his smirk and Mark scowls at the bright glow of his laptop screen. Great. It’s been six years since Harvard and since he’d discovered his… inappropriate reaction to Chris and his goddamned _suits_ and just as he’d thought he can get away with it, he fucks it up.

He always fucks it up.

He’s studiously not looking at Chris, even though he’s all too aware of the fact that now Chris keeps stealing glances at _him_ , curious and contemplative and confused. He’s nothing if not accomplished at ignoring everything around him, though, and it’s easy to ignore Chris. Or so he tells himself, but his hands are shaking very slightly, destroying his ability to type, and his knee is jerking in an uneven rhythm under the table. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a hand on his knee to still the movement. A hand on his _right_ and oh god, it’s _Chris’s_ hand on his knee. He flushes hot and cold, face bright red as he forces himself to stop. But the heat of Chris’s hand feels like it’s scorching through the threadbare material of his jeans and Mark worries the string of his hoodie between his teeth until it frays.

He’s also all too aware of the fact that Chris keeps his hand on Mark’s knee until the meeting ends. It’s a good thing he never pays attention to these things, anyway, because that hand single-handedly destroys his concentration. He’s a wreck when people start moving out, giving him perfunctory goodbyes and he barely manages to nod back, staring with blind intent at his screen. Dustin’s the last one out of the room and just before he goes out of the door, he actually throws them a _wink_ and closes the door behind himself. The click sounds gunshot loud in the silence, but it’s almost drowned out by the rapid thudding of Mark’s heart, and Chris’s hand is _still on his knee_.

“So,” Chris drawls out, slow and lazy, and Mark’s eyes squeeze shut for a moment. He has to concentrate on taking deep breaths through his nose, but the only thing that achieves is him getting the full impact of Chris’s cologne. It’s dark and spicy and Mark balls his hands into fists on the table, nails digging crescent marks into his palm, doing absolutely nothing to quell the urge to just… lean in and taste, to find out at what points bitter cologne collects on Chris’s skin. When he opens his eyes, he can see Chris looking at him, more contemplative and curious than confused, now. And he knows he’s fucked because he’s thinking in alliterations when Chris is the humanities major of their original band of four.

“So,” Mark repeats, and he’s embarrassed by how he has to clear his throat twice before the word passes through. Chris smiles, and his fingers curl a little, a small caress and Mark jerks, letting out an involuntary groan at the gesture. Chris’s smile widens and he’s drawing circles along Mark’s inseam and _why_ did he decide to forego his usual sweatpants? His jeans are starting to get uncomfortably tight and Mark fidgets. Not enough, he notices, to dislodge Chris’s hand and he has to wonder if his body is betraying him.

He _knows_ his body is betraying him.

When he dares to look at Chris again, Mark notices that his smile has turned decidedly smug, and Mark can’t breathe, can only hear the scrape of a perfectly manicured nail over denim, feel the press of fingers against his thigh, the heat of Chris’s hand sinking through jeans and skin into his bones. He shivers as Chris turns to face him more completely, head tilted to the side and Mark’s breath hitches in his throat when he feels that hand move higher, dangerously close, _not close enough_.

“How long have you wanted to fuck me?” Chris asks, conversationally, and Mark chokes on his own tongue. He shouldn’t be surprised, though. Chris has always been blunt when it’s just the two of them, and he’s always seen how fast Chris works when he sees something he wants within his grasp. Watching Chris hook up with guys has always been like something out of National Geographic. The words “on the prowl” perfectly describes Chris. He’s a predator intent on the hunt, and this time Mark is the prey.

(In all of his fantasies, Mark has always been the one to make the moves, but he’s not really complaining about the way things are turning out.)

“Uh,” Mark garbles unintelligibly and Chris lets out a quiet huff of laughter deep in his throat. His hand slides up, avoiding where Mark is straining for his touch, to rest lightly on his hip. His thumb brushes up under Mark’s shirt to bare skin, a light touch that lights up every nerve in Mark’s body. He’s completely aware of Chris’s hand, Chris’s heat, Chris’s scent invading him and he feel dizzy and lightheaded and he’s so hard it hurts. It’s mortifying that his control is completely unravelling and Chris seems unaffected.

But no, he isn’t. His pupils are blown wide and dark and he’s sliding his tongue slow over his bottom lip before taking it between his teeth. Mark whimpers, unable to drag his eyes away from the sight and Chris laughs again. The next thing Mark knows, he’s got a lapful of Chris, and Chris is hooking his fingers into the neckline of Mark’s hoodie, drawing him closer. Then Chris is kissing him, deep and wet and dirty and all Mark can do is hold on, hands gripping Chris’s hips as Chris takes his mouth. There’s no other word for it, Chris _takes_ and takes and Mark can’t think, can’t do anything but feel and give in. He hears someone whimper and can’t even find it in himself to care when he realises that that someone is him.

Chris slides his fingers through Mark’s curls, tight enough that Mark can feel the pressure on his scalp before he pulls Mark’s head back, angling him just the way he likes it. He’s rocking his hips down into Mark in a slow, teasing grind that has Mark gasping in his mouth, thrusting up to meet him but Chris just laughs breathlessly and pulls just out of reach of perfect, perfect friction. Mark growls because Chris? Chris is a fucking _tease_ , but this is apparently Chris’s show and all Mark can do is hold on for the ride and hope he comes out of it alive.

When Chris pulls back, they’re both breathless and Chris’s lips are red and swollen and slick and Mark groans, already leaning in for another kiss. But Chris just leans back with a smirk, head falling back as he finally, finally brings his hips to the perfect angle. Mark shudders, eyes screwing shut as they line up perfectly, sliding dick against dick under denim and cotton. Chris is gorgeous over him, his flush disappearing under his shirt as his rocks his hips into Mark, fingers tight on Mark’s shoulders. Mark can already feel bruises forming, but he’s not about to complain, not when he’s so achingly hard and so is Chris. Not when Chris is no longer perfectly pressed, but perfectly mussed instead. The thought that Chris is going to bitch about the state of his clothes after flits through his head, but it’s gone again in the next moment as Chris takes his mouth again.

Mark has never been kissed like this. Even in the bathroom stall in Harvard with Alice sliding down his body afterwards to blow him, it’s never been like this. He feels like he’s burning up, like he should be bursting into flames. His skin feels too tight, like it can’t hold him in anymore and they’re still fully clothed. He wants that to change. He _needs_ it to. So he fumbles with awkward fingers to pull Chris’s shirt out of his pants, diving under to finally touch the skin he’s been dreaming of for years.

Chris is smooth under his fingertips, and Mark moans into Chris’s mouth as he feels him shiver under Mark’s touch. All he can do is smooth his hands as far up Chris’s back as he can reach, then back down over his sides to grip his hips again, anchoring Chris over him. Chris growls, nipping Mark’s lips before soothing the sting with his tongue, diving in enthusiastically. Mark wishes he could feel Chris, though, and fumbles with the buttons of Chris’s shirt, pushing it off his shoulders with a glide over Chris’s skin that’s more to do with the fact that Mark can’t seem to let go of him than out of any finesse. Chris seems to appreciate it, anyway, and moves to yank at Mark’s hoodie. They separate only long enough for Chris to pull the hoodie over Mark’s head, then they’re diving back at each other.

It shouldn’t make such a big difference, but the slide of skin on skin just makes everything… _more_. He can feel Chris’s heart as a staccato beat against his chest, and knows that his own matches it. The evidence of Chris’s need just amps his own desire. They’ve still got their pants on, but Mark honestly doesn’t think he can handle more simulation, not right now. He’s already too close to the edge, and Chris isn’t helping. His hips are moving in a tight circle that makes Mark hiss, nails digging in between Chris’s shoulder blades before dragging fine red lines down Chris’s spine. Chris’s back arches, head thrown back as a deep groan escapes his lips.

“Come on,” he breathes, fingers going back to Mark’s hair, pulling it just tight enough to sting again. “Mark, I want you to come for me.”

“Fuck,” Mark bites out, dropping his head to rest his sweaty forehead to Chris’s shoulder. He’s lost what little rhythm he had before, more concerned with getting off now. He’s so close that his stomach is clenched over it, blood rushing in his ears. Even Chris is a little more off-kilter. The cool metal of Chris’s belt buckle presses into his stomach, an icy burn that just adds to the heat of his feverish skin. He’s so fucking close that he nearly sobs with it. It’s not enough. _It’s not fucking enough_. “Chris,” he says, voice wrecked and Chris is off his lap in a flash.

Mark doesn’t even have time to voice a dismayed complaint before Chris hits his knees and pushes Mark’s legs wide apart, undoing his button and unzipping his jeans in swift, economical moves that should not be as hot as it is. He doesn’t even take off Mark’s pants, just pushes them enough to reach for his cock, then his mouth sinks down over Mark’s length and Mark lets out a shout, head flying back to thump solidly against the top of his chair.

He doesn’t feel it, doesn’t feel anything but hot, wet, perfect suction around his dick. Chris takes him down, and he watches with wild eyes as Chris’s lips slide to the base of his cock, as he feel himself slide down Chris’s throat. He cries out, hands flying to grip fistfuls of Chris’s hair. Chris’s groan vibrates around him and that’s it, that’s all he needs. He tries to choke out a warning to Chris, but Chris just hums and pulls back just far enough that he’s only got the head in his mouth, flicking the tip of his tongue teasingly over the slit. Mark shudders, feeling his orgasm rush through him as he spills into Chris’s mouth, groaning as Chris sucks him greedily down. Chris keeps sucking until he’s spent and twitching, too sensitive for the prolonged stimulation. Then he rises fluidly to his feet, sliding back into Mark’s lap.

“My turn,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to Mark’s and Marks groans again as he tastes himself in Chris’s mouth. But he’s not a complete jackass, so he helps (hinders) as Chris yanks his belt and pants open, pulling out his dick. Mark gives him what has to be the sloppiest hand job in the history of hand jobs, barely remembers the spit to ease the way, but it’s enough. He grips Chris firmly, and remembers to twist his wrist over the head and it only takes a few strokes before Chris freezes, then comes, warm and thick over his fingers and stomach.

They stay there, panting, Chris’s face pressed into Mark’s neck. Then he pushes up and kisses Mark again, sloppy and tired and lazy before he laughs. Marks jeans are bunched up under his ass uncomfortably, but the buzz of orgasm is still riding through him and he couldn’t care less. They’re both shirtless, though, and still in the conference room (thankfully the one with actual walls, not glass. He’s not prepared to give his employees a show and he’s pretty sure Chris wouldn’t appreciate it, either) and now that the haze has cleared up he can hear the bustle outside the door. He’s surprised no one has come looking for them yet, but then again Dustin is probably running interference. He’ll have to thank him, later.

“So,” Chris says after a comfortable moment of silence. “How long _have_ you wanted to fuck me?”

Mark just looks at him and laughs.


End file.
